Senora Sunrise
by The-Lady-Smaell
Summary: Six months have passed since 'the big score' and the guys have been laying low... well as low as three master criminals can lay. However this is Los Santos and things very rarely stay buried in the sand for long. And seriously... Trevor has to wonder if death is a lifestyle choice nowadays; considering the amount of deceased acquaintances he's been running into recently.


A/N: Okay I'm aware this is waaaaaay out of my usual fandoms but I just finished GTA V with my BF and weeeeeell I may be a little in love with it. It has honestly been quite a while since I've taken such a shine to characters in a game but there is something strangely loveable about the psychotic, neurotic trio of Michael, Trevor and Franklin. So I just had to write something for them because they are just fucking AWESOME (Especially Trevor... because that level of bat-shit crazy is equal parts hilarious and terrifying).

Warnings: Language, language and more language. Murder, betrayal and a big ole' dollop of insanity.

Disclaimer: No own, no sue, not even a Susan.

Title: Senora Sunrise.

Chapter One: The grass is scorched and blackened on the other side.

**Trevor**

"Ron! ROOON! Get me my fucking coffee before I skin you and feed you to the cockroaches!"

There was a skittering of nervous feet from the opposite side of the yard as the man in question barrelled out the door in order to comply with his bosses request.

"ROOOOOOOON!"

Trevor's tone was filled with impatience as he attempted to glare a hole in the trellised doorway, where there was currently no Ron and No. Fucking. Coffee. It took a few more moments but then the door finally flew open and there stood a flushed faced Ron clutching a cup of something that at least vaguely resembled coffee to his chest. With aggressive eagerness grabbed the mug and down in one fell swoop before slamming the mug down in the counter, smashing it into a million pieces.

"What took you so fucking long?!" He barked gruffly, collapsing onto the couch in a heap.

"Sorry boss... But water does take time to boil." Ron replied timidly as the other man growled, shrinking back and mourning the loss of yet another piece of crockery.

"Excuses, excuses that's everything that's wrong with America today everyone is making excuses and doing fuck all about it." He waved his hand nonchalantly still slynpes.

Ron looked confused and fiddled with the hem of his polo-shirt "I thought capitalists were what were wring with America?"

He instantly regretted his rash question.

Trevor bounded from his prone position eyes wide and wild and filled to the brim with that special brand of Trevor Phillips insanity that made even complete psychopaths piss themselves in fear.

"You are Absolutely. Right. Ron-di-mundo. Lazy, fucking, excuse making capitalists."

He clapped his hands on the shorter man's shoulders causing Ron to buckle slightly under the strain but he was clearly relieved that Trevor was apparently pleased with his interruption.

"So my bespectacled compadre what's on the agenda for today? Fucking with red-necks, cooking with Chef?" He rubbed his hands together with slightly maniacal glee and Ron shrunk back further, the fiery elemental that was Trevor Phillips singing and burning everything he touched.

"Well Oscar wanted to know whether you could get your hands on another arms shipment."

Trevor grinned with a disturbing look in his eye and stomped into his bedroom; more than likely, Ron reasoned, to raid his cache of weapons he'd accumulated during that whole _incident_ six months ago where Trevor, his old running partner and a Los Santos hood managed to somehow rob the largest depository in the country, bring down a private army and one of the most powerful men in America _On. Their. Own._

Well mostly. Ron knew that they'd had some help, hell he'd even helped at some point but the three of them; Trevor, Michael and what was his name Franklin, they had been on the frontlines putting those plans into action, risking life and limb to protect themselves and their way of life.

It was kind of poetic when you thought about it.

Trevor emerged from the disaster area that was his bedroom armed to the teeth and whooping loudly, clearly psyched to actually be doing something.

That was other thing since the Los Santos incident.

Things had been... Quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Not that Ron was complaining, it was just he hadn't seen the boss as happy as when he and Michael and Franklin had been dodging Merryweather goons and pulling the biggest job of their lives.

He kinda wanted to see Trevor that focused, that happy again.

"ROOOON! Working on a time-scale here!"

Jolted from his musings Ron turned around just in time to see his boss pull open the front door, snarl menacingly at someone or something beyond it and then quickly lash out with a quick fist. There was a crash from outside and Ron ran over to the door to see just what the fuck had just happened.

Sprawled on the ground out cold was a man a few years younger than himself with a head of grizzled dark hair and a familiar look about him. He turned a confused look on Trevor who looked utterly furious, his hand twitching like he wanted to strangle the newcomer. In fact the last time he'd seen the other man this enraged was when he had found out that Michael _fucking_ Townley was alive.

"Boss, who the hell...?"

The growl that errupted from Trevor's throat was truly terridying, almost as if he were about to go feral.

"That..." He trailed off as if to regain his composure "Is my baby brother, my previously deceased and soon to be once again baby brother."

Ron could do nothing but stare.

_Well fuck._

~End Chapter one.~

A/N: I know it's a short start but I hope I intrigued you. Let me know what ya' think!


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